


Not For A Passing Breath

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Herbert West is Sad and Gay, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21784843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: It was then, standing in the basement with Dan and explaining his work, watching the horror give way to wary interest and understanding on Dan’s face, that the first inkling of it started to come to Herbert. Something unconscious, unacknowledged, something that came into sharper focus later, after Dean Halsey had been reanimated and Dan had helped Herbert administer a shot of his stimulant, jittery and trembling and unable to take it himself. He was aware then, in some detached and cautious way, that he could probably fall in love with Dan.
Relationships: Daniel Cain/Herbert West
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	Not For A Passing Breath

**Author's Note:**

> _Love is not taught in learning's school,  
>  Love is not parcelled out by rule;  
> Hath curb or call an answer got? —  
> So free must be forget-me-not.  
> Give me the flame no dampness dulls,  
> The passion of the instinctive pulse,  
> Love steadfast as a fixed star,  
> Tender as doves with nestlings are,  
> More large than time, more strong than death:  
> This all creation travails of —  
> She groans not for a passing breath —  
> This is forget-me-not and love._ — "A Bed of Forget-Me-Not" by Christina Rossetti

It wasn’t that Herbert West was incapable of feeling. It was just that he preferred not to. Sentimentality was something of a liability for a doctor, let alone for a proper scientist, and any small capacity towards tenderness he might have once possessed had been quashed around the time Doctor Gruber had met his unfortunate end. 

It was a tragic loss, of course; Herbert had liked the man, respected him and his work, and regretted that the reagent hadn’t restored his life, but the work couldn’t afford Herbert time for grief. Scores of people died every day, and until Herbert could say with certainty that he had a way to fix that, the loss of one man, however personally valuable he might have been to Herbert, would have to take a backseat to pushing forward. He allowed himself a few small tears on the flight to America, curled against a window and trying fruitlessly to sleep. Maybe he could make something for that.

So yes, Herbert West could feel, had some semblance of a heart in his chest, but it inconvenienced him, and so he had learned to ignore it, to rule over his emotions lest they rule over him and get in his way.

There was also the plain fact that so much of what human beings valued emotionally didn’t interest him; the love of animals, for example, had always struck him as somewhere between absurd and pitiable. Animals had a certain utility in research and he supposed they provided some level of physical comfort to people who chose to keep them in their homes, but the value people placed on them due to this second, the semblance of personhood they gave them, had never held any sway over Herbert. It wasn't good to get attached to something you would certainly lose. 

He felt the same about the sentimentalization attached to the idea of friendship, especially the prospect of friendship with his so-called peers at Miskatonic. The idea was ludicrous. They would certainly get in the way, want things from him that would at best distract from the work and at worst would lead them to resent or even fear him when he couldn’t give them what they wanted. No, Herbert West was not a person who needed friends. 

What he did need was a roommate and a place to live, and finding somewhere to rent in a college town shortly after term had started was more difficult than he had forseen. 

Dan Cain’s home was cluttered, full of second or third hand furniture and rather more band posters than seemed reasonable, very obviously the home of someone with neither money or good decorating sense. Herbert found it strangely comforting. And it had a basement. Dan’s girlfriend was obviously reluctant for him to move in, but no matter: it wasn’t her home. Herbert wondered if she was going to be a problem, and reasoned that as long as he stayed out of the way, she would probably avoid him, as well. The last thing he wanted was some kind of confrontation over some inconsequential detail, and so when he found the cat dead he hid it and hoped the latest tweaks to the reagent would restore it before anything came of it. 

Unfortunately, that was not to be. He had to loop Dan into the work to save his living situation, which he’d been extremely reluctant to do, but Dan... Dan reacted better than Herbert had dared hope. 

It was then, standing in the basement with Dan and explaining his work, watching the horror give way to wary interest and understanding on Dan’s face, that the first inkling of it started to come to Herbert. Something unconscious, unacknowledged, something that came into sharper focus later, after Dean Halsey had been reanimated and Dan had helped Herbert administer a shot of his stimulant, jittery and trembling and unable to take it himself. He was aware then, in some detached and cautious way, that he could probably fall in love with Dan. 

As he worked in the lab later, trying to run a few tests before the sun came up and ignoring the residual effects of his near-crash off the stimulant, Herbert turned the idea over in his mind. It fascinated him as much as it disturbed him. It had been necessary to reveal to Dan what he was doing in their shared basement, but he’d been fairly sure several times since then that Dan was about to recoil from Herbert’s work and leave. But he hadn’t. Despite everything Dan was proving to be remarkably resilient. It was... reassuring. 

Herbert didn’t  _ need _ an assistant, and he didn’t _ need _ a lover. He’d done most of the work alone, and he’d never felt the absence of companionship in the way so many people around him (people like Dan) did. He didn't think he was wired the correct way for it. But Dan... Dan was essential. To the work, and to Herbert because of it. 

When Herbert thought about it, and he did, occasionally, over the course of living together, he always assumed that if he  _ were _ to fall in love with Dan, it would be on the heels of their success. The work would be done. He would have time, then. They both would. And he would have done something to deserve it, then, something that would make clear to Dan, once and for all, that ... Herbert was never sure how to finish that thought. Nor did he know exactly what he was expecting to happen in this hesitating fantasy, just that Dan would look at him triumphantly over their completed work, and he would look at Dan, and beam, and he would just... know. They would have all the time in the world to figure it out, after the work was done. In the mean time there was too great a risk of disruption. 

So, despite his careful planning, despite how long he’d been aware it might someday happen and the pains he took to guard against it lest it get in the way, it came as something of a shock when Herbert did fall in love with Dan, because the circumstances were all wrong. 

They’d fled to the west coast after his attempt to bring back Meg for Dan had gone so horribly wrong. Dan had pulled him up from the grave and bundled him into the car, thrown a bag in the backseat, and set off at top speed, berating Herbert the whole way.  _ He _ hadn’t wanted to come back to Arkham, he reminded Herbert.  _ He _ hadn’t thought it had been a good idea to return to the scene of their first spectacular failure, and Herbert’s insistence on it had almost cost them both their lives. 

Herbert hadn’t been listening, too cold and shaken to protest, and it wasn’t until they were nearly through Ohio around dawn that he became aware he was in pain. He’d broken two ribs and incurred a number of more minor injuries in the collapse of the crypt, and Dan had sworn and dragged him into a hospital when he voiced that perhaps he ought to take a shot of his stimulant to counteract what he was beginning to feel. 

Herbert had thought, for a bit in the hospital, that Dan was going to insist they stay until he was well, but Herbert had been surprised to learn he wanted to keep travelling. Wanted to put as much distance between them and a missing cop and a sinkhole where a cemetery used to be as possible. Herbert found himself agreeing, if only because driving seemed to be all that was keeping Dan from losing his grip on some semblance of calm. 

They’d settled in the Pacific Northwest, a small town south of Portland, and Dan had spent several days procuring them more supplies while simultaneously trying to force Herbert to stay in bed and rest, despite Herbert’s protests. 

Herbert emerged from his room one morning, dressed and ready for the day at last, ready to get back to work, and he’d gone into the kitchen for a glass of water, and stopped in the doorway. 

Dan was at the stove, cooking eggs. Herbert could smell toast burning and a smile twitched across his face. The adage “couldn’t boil water” flitted through his mind. He ought to take the toast out, at least, since Dan was clearly not going to notice in time, but he was distracted looking at the man. 

Dan was wearing scrubs rumpled from sleep and a cheap pair of slippers, his hair sticking up every which way. He had the small radio over the stove turned on, and he was singing along, quietly and cheerfully and rather badly, to whatever inane pop song was playing. The toast was burning and Dan was flipping an egg, and Dan, he was fairly sure, preferred his scrambled. 

And all of a sudden Herbert’s chest was tight, and his breath was stuck in his throat, and his whole body felt flush and uncomfortable as it swept over him that he was  _ already _ in love with Dan. He was in love with Dan, and he’d thought he’d be ready for it, and he wasn’t _at all_. He’d thought he could understand the conditions under which he might one day love Dan, and to have been incorrect was all at once wonderful and baffling and irritating and  _ terrifying _ , little though Herbert liked to admit he was ever  _ terrified  _ of anything. His estimations of himself, his capacity for feeling and the ability to suppress it, had been hopelessly flawed, and he could barely breathe with the shock of it all. And Dan was frying him an egg. 

An involuntary sound came from Herbert’s throat, and Dan turned around. “Oh, you’re awake.” 

“I— yes.” Herbert swallowed, trying to get his feelings under control. Now that they’d escaped the tight reign he kept on them they seemed not to want to come back, as if they’d gotten a taste of freedom and made a break for it. “Yes, I’m awake.” 

Dan set down the spatula he was holding and moved towards Herbert, concern coloring his features. “You okay? You look kinda…” 

Herbert thrust his chin out and narrowed his eyes. “I look kind of _ what? _ ” 

When Dan raised his hands, Herbert winced back, and the expression on Dan’s face went from concerned to pitying. “Spooked. You look kinda spooked. Did you have another of those nightmares about Hill?” 

“I—“ Herbert wasn’t sure whether to comment on Dan’s shift in demeanor, his word choice, the question itself, or the fact that the toast was still definitely burning, so he said nothing. He was suddenly very aware of his body in a way he wasn’t sure he liked; every experience was heightened, every sensation thrust to the forefront of his consciousness, and with it, every infuriating insecurity he carried about his own collection of parts. 

“Everything healing alright? Nothing’s wrong?” Dan asked. He moved forward again, more slowly this time, and Herbert had the sudden vivid association of approaching a frightened animal he wanted to test a new mixture on. He laughed, and it came out on the edge of hysteria. Dan stopped. 

It was only now that it was occurring to him to wonder if  _ Dan _ loved  _ him _ . He’d always sort of assumed he did; Dan loved easily, and he’d put up with far more from Herbert than was to be expected even from a very dedicated research assistant, and he’d stayed with Herbert after their actions had led to the death of not one, but two of Dan’s girlfriends. But what if he didn’t? What if Herbert said something now and Dan didn’t feel the same at all and he lost him at last, after all they’d been through together? What would he do without him? Herbert couldn’t remember ever feeling so frightened.

But then… the egg. 

“Daniel?” He said at last, his voice coming out very timid. Dan inclined his head, and Herbert stepped forward, determined to say with action what he couldn’t seem to quite manage with words. 

The smoke alarm went off. Dan whirled around to look at the toast, swore, and hastily turned off the stove. Herbert hurried to unplug the toaster and as he did, collided with Dan who was moving to open the window over the sink. His warm hands settled on Herbert’s waist, steadying him. The movement placed them at an awkward angle, pressed right up into each other’s space, and Herbert blinked up through his glasses at Dan’s suddenly very close face. 

Neither of them made any move to separate. Herbert’s whole body seemed paralyzed, like he’d been shot through with electricity or taken a very fast-acting poison. If he leaned up slightly Dan’s lips would be within reach, but he couldn’t make himself move. 

“Daniel?” He said again, even quieter. 

“Yeah?” Dan said, his voice low in his throat. He seemed just as affected by their proximity as Herbert was, and it was this, more than anything else, that let Herbert grip Dan’s arm and open his mouth, ignoring the fear and affection and desire churning in his stomach, the rapidly boiling mix that he couldn’t think of any other name for if not love.

“Kiss me?” 

Dan blinked, and for a moment Herbert gripped him harder, his nails cutting into Dan’s skin in preparation for him pulling away, but then Dan lowered his head, pressed his lips to Herbert’s, and Herbert relaxed. 

Dan made a sound when Herbert balled his fists in his shirt to pull him closer, and he felt Dan’s hands come up to cup his face as he deepened the kiss. Herbert had no idea what to do but Dan seemed to know enough for both of them, and the things he was doing were making Herbert’s legs feel weak. 

When Dan pulled away for a breath, Herbert inhaled sharply, his own breath hitching, and Dan made an approving little sound as he kissed Herbert’s jaw. “Oh,  _ Daniel _ .” Herbert said, almost a sigh, and he’d have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so blissfully content, if the sensation of Dan pulling him closer and nuzzling against his cheek wasn’t so unexpectedly welcome and grounding and comforting. 

“Love you, Herbert.” Dan said quietly, giving him a little squeeze, and Herbert laughed again. 

“Oh.” He said, wrapping his arms around Dan in return and breathing deeply, his face pressed into Dan’s shoulder. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It was  _ simple _ to Dan. It was just that simple. “I love  _ you _ .” 

Dan kissed him again, and Herbert sighed into it, let Dan back him up against the sink and all but pick him up. Nothing was happening the way it was supposed to. There was no immortality, no end to the work. They were not rich and famous and renowned as the heroes who had conquered death. They were poor and in hiding and starting over from scratch on another coast. But for the first time, as Herbert tangled his fingers in Dan’s hair and gasped as Dan kissed down his neck, he thought maybe this wasn’t the sort of thing that could be structured. 

It was several hours before either of them remembered the eggs and toast. 


End file.
